Kill or cure
by clerical medical
Summary: Elizabeth joins Sheppard's team to assist with translating some writings at an Ancient outpost. But nothing is ever simple, and trapped in a crashed jumper with Sheppard, Elizabeth must discover if she has what it takes to kill or cure. Shepwhump. Gen.
1. kill or cure, teaser

Teaser

Elizabeth forced herself to sit straighter against the bulkhead and blinked again to clear her vision. In the half-darkness of the wrecked jumper, she could still see the moment when Sheppard began to regain consciousness. She felt the breath catch in her throat and was sure that her heart was loud enough to be heard even in the rear compartment of the Ancient spacecraft.

Her hands were slick with sweat on the borrowed energy pistol. She knew what she had to do. The throbbing of the cut above her left eye and the sticky feeling of the blood caked on her eyelid, where it had run down, were reminder enough that when the time came she mustn't hesitate.

The man in front of her, whom she had long considered not just a colleague, but a friend, groped his way upright, with uncoordinated limbs. Elizabeth shrank away from him, pressing herself closer to the bulkhead, and gripped the pistol more tightly. Not daring to blink, she kept her eyes fixed on his shadowed face.

_Remember, leave it as late as you dare – every shot weakens Sheppard, just as it weakens __**them**_. She replayed McKay's hurried advice, shouted through the barrier hours before, and prepared herself to do what needed to be done.

Sheppard finally raised his head to look at her. His eyes – usually full of life and a warm hazel - were blank with dull silver, and her stomach lurched with nausea. Not daring to breathe, she raised the pistol, and waited until she saw him tense to spring. She squeezed the trigger, and Sheppard was enveloped in crimson light, arching his back in obvious agony before curling in on himself and crumpling awkwardly to the floor.

Elizabeth counted slowly to ten, trying to slow her breathing, before cautiously pushing herself upright and crawling the short distance to the unconscious body of her friend. She raised one hand to his neck, and allowed herself a shaky breath of relief as the steady thrumming of a heartbeat greeted her fingers. She scooted back to her corner and closed her eyes for a brief moment, knowing that this is all that she could allow herself.

How many more times would she have to do this before Rodney found a solution, or rescue arrived? And how many times could John Sheppard survive it?


	2. Kill or cure, chapter 1

Author note: Yep, my recurring urge to injure John Sheppard has struck again. I just can't help myself. There will be at least one more chapter after this one – not sure how many, actually, but I'll try and post them reasonably regularly (days apart, not weeks apart). On we go…

Chapter 1

_Five hours earlier…_

"You don't have to watch my every step, you know," smiled Elizabeth as she and the others exited the Puddle jumper and began to pick their way through the ruins of the Ancient outpost to the one structure that was reasonably intact. As the leader of the Atlantis expedition she rarely left the base other than for diplomatic missions to potential allies, and she was very aware that her military commander had a tendency towards over-protectiveness – not only towards her, but towards all the civilians, particularly those who weren't regular members of gate teams. And while she bristled slightly at the assumption that she was somehow fragile or incapable, she knew with absolute certainty that if anything did go wrong there was nobody else she would rather have watching her back.

So she straightened her back and picked up the pace, matching his stride as he turned forwards again, and they both reached the main entrance of the structure at the same time. It was a small triumph, and she smirked at her own competitive nature.

Sheppard, for his part, tried not to roll his eyes as he and Ronon took their places either side of the door, Ronon with his energy pistol drawn and ready. The Colonel drew his hand across the door control, and shifted his grip to the lighted P90 as the door ground its way open.

A trickle of dust fell from the lintel, and the door didn't fully open, but Sheppard could sense straight away that there was still power flowing through the Ancient systems within the building – the faint mental 'hum' that had greeted him when he first stepped through the wormhole to Atlantis was here, too, pushing at the back of his mind, though the sensation was less welcoming, less homey, than the city that had truly become his home. Weapon still raised and ready, he stepped over the threshold and blinked as a smattering of lights grudgingly flickered on. It was a sickly glow, but it was enough to illuminate the small room.

This was as far as Lorne's team had got when they'd scouted the planet two days before. It had been clear that the outpost had been some sort of research station, so when the team reported in, McKay had insisted that he be allowed a first look at it, and Elizabeth had expressed an interest in it, too, based on the scant description in the Ancient Database back on Atlantis, so with Teyla away visiting with the Athosians, Sheppard had ended up leading the remainder of his own team, plus Elizabeth, back to the planet today.

Sheppard gave the all clear, and reluctantly allowed Elizabeth and Rodney in, Ronon bringing up the rear.

"Huh," was Rodney's first reaction. "I thought it would be cleaner."

Ronon and Sheppard exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised, but by that time the scientist was already unpacking his trusty tablet and connecting it to the underside of the nearest console with a hefty sheaf of wires. Knowing that he and Elizabeth would likely take a while to make sense of what they found, he decided to check out the rest of the building – after all, at least he knew he could get the lights to work.

"Ronon, can you stay with these two while they play with their new toy? I'm going to see what else is here."

The Satedan nodded, and took up a position leaning against the doorframe, giving him a vantage point outside and in. Sheppard had come to trust the former runner absolutely, and was grateful to be able to trust the safety of the two non-military members of their group to his watchful guarding.

A door at the far end of the room took Sheppard to a short corridor, again lit by sporadic lights, and a further chamber. The door control seemed to be dead, but Sheppard made short work of prising the door open enough to look through, and then sidestep his way into what was clearly a lab.

"McKay'll want to see this," Sheppard muttered to himself, lowering his P90 so that the flashlight's beam could supplement the meagre glow of the room's own lights. In the centre of the lab was a tall, semi-transparent structure. The surface looked smooth to the touch, but Sheppard drew his hand back as he was about to make contact with it. He'd had more than one too many bad experiences with touching Ancient devices without fully understanding them first. So he circled the structure warily, wondering whether he could hazard a guess as to its function before calling McKay on the radio.

Careful not to touch anything, Sheppard leaned closer, hoping to see whether the structure was hollow, or whether the pearlised finish was, in fact, solid. He'd just decided that it probably was solid, when the whole thing sprang to life, dazzling him with a sudden burst of silver light that sent spikes of hot pain though his skull. He staggered, blinded and disorientated, and tried to reach for his earpiece. He was only aware that he'd lost his balance when he distantly felt his hip collide with the sharp edge of the console, and a split second later, his forehead struck the tall structure at its centre. Pain layered on pain, and still the silver light blotted out all thought.

Sheppard was hardly aware of falling, and was unconscious before he hit the floor. So he couldn't possibly have seen the pearly silver from the Ancient device as it flowed down and across the console, onto one trailing, limp hand, and up the arm, and onto the neck. Mercifully, Sheppard was insensible as the alien liquid smothered his face and seeped through eyes, nose, mouth and ears, eventually, seemingly, disappearing, taking the bright-white glow with it.

Sheppard's unconscious body shuddered once, and was still.


	3. Kill or cure, chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Sheppard," McKay's voice carried through the radio, but there was no reply.

"I'll go find him," Ronon offered. "He can't have gone far, building's not that big."

The Satedan pushed himself away from the wall, and strode towards the door and corridor where Sheppard had exited an hour before. Elizabeth and Rodney had managed to download enough of the outpost's log to determine that it was a scientific research station, and that they were working on some form of nanotechnology. McKay was keen to find out if Sheppard had found any labs or equipment beyond the computers and consoles they'd already investigated.

A moment later, Ronon was shouting for them to join him, forgetting the radio in his concern. Rodney and Elizabeth exchanged a concerned glance and hurried after the Satedan, skidding to a halt when they found him, kneeling beside what had to be Sheppard's body.

"Oh my God," Elizabeth breathed. "Is he….?"

"He's alive." Ronon confirmed, his hand still wrapped around one unmoving wrist. "But his pulse is really fast, and it feels like he's running a fever."

"But he was fine and hour ago," McKay panicked. "What if it's some fast-acting alien virus? I mean, we might all have it by now!" Furtively, he grasped at his own wrist, while Elizabeth pushed past him and knelt down next to Ronon.

"John, can you hear me?" she began, gently shaking the unconscious man's shoulder.

She was rewarded a moment later by a groan, and a fluttering of eyelids , and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wha…" Sheppard slurred, clearly trying to rouse himself, and struggling.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Elizabeth replied, gently. "Can you sit up?"

"Yeah, gimme a minute."

Sheppard breathed in deeply through his nose and used the breath out to bolster an attempt to sit up. He was grateful for Ronon's strong grip on his arm that stopped him listing sideways again.

"Do you remember what happened?" Elizabeth tried again.

"Not sure. Head hurts." Sheppard winced. Reaching up to his hairline and rubbing what must be blood between his fingers. There wasn't much, but his scalp was tender as if bruised. The trouble was, that he had no recollection of how he'd done it. He remembered looking at the device in the centre of the lab, and then a bright light, pain, and then nothing.

He shook his head to clear it, and regretted the gesture immediately, as his stomach rolled with nausea. Reflexively he drew the back of his hand across his mouth and swallowed. The dim lighting seemed to make the dampness on his skin look almost silver, or perhaps it was his eyes playing tricks.

"If you can stand, I think we should head back to Atlantis, get Carson to check you out," Elizabeth stated, making it clear that it wasn't just a suggestion.

"Yeah," breathed Sheppard. He wasn't normally one to make much of an injury, but it wasn't the head injury he was worried about. Something didn't feel right. _He _didn't feel right. And he was pretty sure there was an important reason for it.

"Yeah," he repeated. "Gimme a hand, big guy," he asked, and just managed to stifle a groan as Ronon pulled him to his feet and steadied him as he swayed.

By the time they reached daylight, he was feeling marginally better. It was only a hundred yards or so to the Jumper, but by the time they reached it, Sheppard had convinced himself that he was well enough to fly them home. McKay was sceptical but quietly agreed that even on what was a bad day for Sheppard, the man was still a far better pilot than he would ever be. And, as Sheppard himself pointed out, it was only five kliks to the gate. He could fly that in his sleep.

Elizabeth settled herself in the seat behind Sheppard, with McKay in the front and Ronon behind him. They had been airborne for only a few seconds, however, when the Jumper suddenly lurched.

"John?" Elizabeth leaned forward, but Sheppard seemed not to hear. His hands were gripping the controls with such ferocity that his hands were shaking and his knuckles white.

"Sheppard, what's going on?" McKay squeaked, reaching out to touch a control, and then drawing it back with a yelp when a silver trail of sparks rippled across the dash.

Elizabeth was watching Rodney, and so she saw the exact moment that he put two and two together.

"Oh no," he breathed, glancing from Sheppard to the Jumper's controls and back again. Frantically, he scrabbled for his tablet and stared at it, tapping furiously, before lurching from his seat and heading to the back portion of the little spacecraft.

"Rodney," Elizabeth warned, "What's going on?"

"No time to explain, I've got to cut the power." He pulled down one of the overhead panels of crystals, and started pulling them out, glancing every time towards the front where Sheppard still sat, silently shaking and seemingly rooted to the controls, despite Ronon's best efforts to prise his fingers off them.

"Rodney!" Elizabeth demanded, torn between a need for explanations and concern for her own and the team's safety.

"Rodney, we're airborne. You can't cut the power, we'll crash!"

"Crashing the jumper is the least of our problems, Elizabeth!" Rodney almost yelled. "I only saw it for a split second, but I know it was there: there was nano coding all over the HUD. Whatever they were doing with nanotechnology, we've brought it with us, and we cannot, I repeat, we cannot bring it with us back to Atlantis."

"Oh my God," Elizabeth sat heavily back in her seat. "Ronon, brace for a crash!"

It came sooner than any of them had anticipated. Although the Jumper hadn't gained significant altitude or speed, when it ploughed into the ground Elizabeth was only aware of a tumble of movement and falling, and then nothing.


	4. Kill or cure, chapter 3

Chapter 3

Elizabeth knew she'd only blacked out for a moment. She blinked, and painfully managed to crawl out from where she'd ended up in the footwell of the seat she'd occupied before the crash. Not for the first time she wondered why the ancient's had had such faith in the Jumpers' inertial dampeners that they hadn't ever bothered with seatbelts.

The Jumper was mostly upright, listing perhaps ten or fifteen degrees to the left; it was not enough to risk tipping over completely, but more than enough to add the disorientation of the crash.

Elizabeth had just checked on John – he was slumped forwards on the controls, but his pulse, while fast, was still strong – when McKay groaned from somewhere behind her. She picked her way through the debris of supplies that had been dislodged and scattered in the crash, leaning on the bulkhead doorway to find the scientist sitting up, head in hands, surrounded by the crystals he'd pulled from the Jumper's arrays. He looked shocked, but relatively unharmed. At least, there was no blood that Elizabeth could see.

Ronon, by the looks of things, hadn't fared so well. He was conscious, but was holding his left arm close to his chest ad taking deliberate breaths in and out. Elizabeth guessed a broken bone was causing the pain, but whether it was ribs or arm, she wasn't sure. She would check on him more thoroughly in a moment, but first she had to know what their status was.

She crouched down next to McKay, pulling one arm away so she could look him in the eye.

"Hey, Rodney, are you OK? I need you to finish telling me what you were saying before. About the nanites." She spoke calmly and firmly, hoping to focus the scientist's mind.

The effect was almost instantaneous. McKay blinked once and she could see the memories returning in a rush. He lurched to his feet, bracing one hand on the side of the Jumper as he got used to the sloping floor.

"I need to know how far they got," he muttered, extricating his tablet from under the first aid kit, and roughly shoving the connecting cable into the nearest terminal. His eyes flicked from side to side, taking in information at an incredible rate. The eyes widened, and he reached out convulsively to pull the cable, stared at the tablet again for a second, and then dropped it as if he'd been burned.

"Rodney?"

"This is bad. This is very, very bad." He turned to look at Elizabeth. "They're everywhere. They've completely infested the Jumper. And that," he gestured down to the discarded tablet on the floor. "And they're still in him. They've infested Sheppard, too."

"What does that mean, though?" Elizabeth persisted. "How do we get them out of him?"

"I'm –" Rodney began, but was interrupted, by a shouted warning from Ronon, whose instincts for danger seemed unimpaired by injury. Rodney and Elizabeth spun round to find him surging to his feet, meeting Sheppard head-on and grappling with the Colonel.

Except it wasn't Sheppard. Not really. Not just because he suddenly seemed to be stronger than the Satedan – much stronger – but because when he turned his head to look past Ronon to Elizabeth and Rodney, his eyes were a solid, pearly silver.

It was only seconds before Ronon was beaten. Even injured, Elizabeth would have put money on the Satedan in a fight, but however these nanites had taken control of Sheppard, they've given him superior strength. Elizabeth found herself backing against the edge of the bulkhead door, looking desperately at McKay for some kind of help or solution.

When it happened, it happened fast. With a vicious punch, Sheppard swiped Ronon into McKay and the two of them fell against the sloping side of the Jumper. Elizabeth backed into the Jumper's cockpit, hoping against hope that the Colonel wouldn't turn and see her, but he was quick, really quick, to turn. His cold, silver eyes, sought her out, staring, his head tilted slightly – was it in curiosity, or in preparation to strike?

Elizabeth's whole life had been about negotiating peace, but no words came, her mouth was dry as paper. Sheppard spun on the spot, placing both hands flat on the Jumper's still-sparking dash, and threw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream – of pain or triumph? It was impossible to tell.

The console sparked one last time, and Elizabeth looked out from behind the arms she'd raised to shield her face to see with horror that the bulkhead doors were closing. Knowing she wouldn't have time to get out from her hiding place to squeeze through them before they closed completely, she reached the breach just in time to see Rodney's panicked face, and to take in that he was throwing something at her with a shout.

On instinct alone, she caught the object, pulling her hands back through the gap as it snapped closed. She just had time to look down at what Rodney had given her when Sheppard turned again, this time towards her.

There was no mercy in the silver eyes, nor in the tension in his body that warned he was about to strike. But in her own hands she now held the energy pistol that Ronon so prized.

_My God, they've given me the means to kill him. _

When Sheppard lunged for her, all conscious thought left Elizabeth's mind. Without even considering whether the weapon was set to stun or to kill, she fired, blindly, shutting her own eyes in horror. The red light of the energy weapon's discharge seared through her eyelids and she was knocked to the floor.


	5. Kill or cure, chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Elizabeth!" Rodney banged his fist again on the bulkhead door, now closed and sealed. He'd already tried the manual override, to no avail, and every one of the Jumper's systems was non-responsive, overrun over by the infestation of minute robots.

Rodney leaned his head against the door. "Elizabeth! Please!"

On the other side of the barrier, the leader of the Atlantis expedition came back to full awareness, aware that we was pinned down by something heavy and solid. Her mind supplied the memories of the jumper crash, but that wasn't right, was it? She opened her eyes and saw a black-clad shoulder, an arm thrown across hers, and an untidy mop of dark hair. The memory of the last few moments came crashing back. Her whole body tensed, and she scrabbled backwards, shoving her way out from under Sheppard's unconscious body, with jerky movements. Sitting with her back pressed against the bulkhead door, she groped with her right hand until she located Ronon's pistol, gathering it protectively to her chest. Only then did she reach to the prone man's neck, relieved once again to find a pulse. The air was heavy with ozone from the gun's discharge in such a confined space, but there was no accompanying smell of burnt flesh. She was as confident as she could be that the weapon had been set to stun.

It was only then that she became aware of a faint knocking behind her. She turned as she sat, pressing her ear to the bulkhead door, trying to make out any words, but perhaps the heavy barrier was simply too thick to carry the sound. She reached up to hear ear, thinking to try the radio, but when she touched the button, there was only static. Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair.

McKay had been trying to tell her something, she knew. He'd thrown her the gun, but not just to defend herself. He'd had that look on his face, the look he got when he had just thought of a crazy but potentially world-saving idea. Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying not to feel defeated. She was trapped in the tiny cockpit of a crashed spaceship, with the man she would normally trust to protect her possessed by tiny robots, while the two people best able to defend her were the other side of a sealed door. Settling down as far from Sheppard's body as she could, she rested her head again against the door so that if Ronon and Rodney tried to shout through to her, she'd have at least some chance of hearing them.

Ronon's pistol felt heavy in her hand. Finger trembling, she slid the catch from stun to kill and back again. She wondered whether, if it came to it, if she really had no other choice, she would be able to do it.

Rodney had almost given up. He'd called her name. He'd hit the bulkhead door until he was sure his hand was bruised. Nothing.

He sat for perhaps five minutes before trying again. This time he concentrated on what were the thinnest parts of the heavy door, and along the seams, hitting it with the wrong end of a torch from the supplies on the floor, and shouting "Elizabeth!" every few hits. When he finally got a response, his legs almost buckled with relief.

Elizabeth tapped back. She didn't dare knock any more loudly, for fear of waking Sheppard. She didn't even know how long a stunner shot should last – or whether the usual rules would apply in any case.

"Elizabeth! Thank God!" Rodney shouted. "Knock if you can hear me!"

She knocked. Twice. So he would know it was deliberate.

"Are you OK?"

She paused. It was one for yes, two for no, wasn't it? She knocked once. Then changed her mind and knocked another two times.

Rodney understood.

"Here's what you have to do," he called out; he could only hope that she would hear him clearly enough.

"You need to set it to stun. Every time he wakes, you need to stun him again. Keep doing it. Just… keep doing it." Rodney sighed, and rested his forehead against the bulkhead door again. He felt the vibration of Elizabeth's knocking reply, more than he heard it.

"The particular form of energy that the weapon uses should, I repeat, _should_, keep the nanites at bay. They're not like ones we've seen before. They're not going to turn into replicators. They can only communicate with each other when they're in another being, or in a machine. By themselves, they're inert." He paused again, wondering how much to tell her.

"If we can keep hitting them with the stunner, it should eventually weaken them. Stop them communicating. Render them inert again. But – " he stopped again. "But you have to leave it as long as possible each time. It's not good for the human body, being stunned over and over. Keep yourself safe, you have to do this, but, _remember_, _leave it as late as you dare – every shot weakens Sheppard, just as it weakens __**them**_."

Elizabeth swallowed, hard. She almost wished that she hadn't been able to make out Rodney's shouted instructions. It had been bad enough shooting Sheppard once and that had been in the heat of the moment. Knowing that she was stuck in here with him and would have to do it again and again turned her stomach.

Already she felt exhausted, and ill.

It was another ten minutes before Sheppard stirred. Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest, unconsciously trying to present a smaller target. She held the pistol in a white knuckled grip, not daring to take her eyes of the Colonel as he slowly prised himself off the sloping floor and dragged himself upright.

She still wasn't ready, though, not really, when he spun and lunged at her. Silver eyes blazing with dull white fire. It was only luck that allowed the shot to hit its target – or at least, part of its target. Elizabeth had flung herself to the side, hoping to avoid the vicious swipe of a fist. The double concussion of the blow to her forehead and the back of her head hitting the solid metal door had made her see stars, so she'd fired blindly again, winging the possessed man and driving him to one knee, but not knocking him out cold.

Panicking, she ducked against a backhander and fired again, this time catching the Colonel full in the face. There was a split second when through the angry read glow Elizabeth almost thought she saw the eyes turn hazel, pupils dilated with pain and shock, then he fell heavily and lay still.

She pressed herself further into the door, as if she could somehow pass through it and away from the horror of what she had done, and what she would have to do again. Dimly she was aware of the pain just above her eyebrow, and the tickling sensation of a blood trail snaking its way down towards her eye. She made no move to wipe it away, because all her arms seemed to want to do was hug her knees as she sat and blinked and told herself that she was strong enough to get through this.


	6. Kill or cure, chapter 5

Chapter 5

Elizabeth was beyond exhausted. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and with the overwhelming ozone residue of the energy weapon. And from spending the last eight hours staring at Sheppard. Because she knew that if she looked away, even for a moment, it could mean her death.

She'd done it twelve times, now. She didn't want to admit that it was getting easier, because it wasn't. Not really. But she also knew that while she had made herself accept the need to do it, she was also, slowly, bit by bit, killing him.

The first few times he'd bounced back, silver-eyed and psychotic. But these last few, he'd been unco-ordinated, his skin a pasty white, sheened with sweat. His silver eyes had been red rimmed with dark shadows under them. But what was most disturbing was that he didn't appear to be breathing. His appearance spoke of exertion but his chest neither rose nor fell. Elizabeth kept telling herself over and over to trust Rodney's instructions. She was doing the right thing. And, whenever she dared, there had always been a pulse. It was just that the skin that fluttered at his neck was paler and slicker each time.

She had no real idea how long they'd been here. Whether they were even overdue yet. She'd resigned herself to the reality that Rodney and Ronon were probably just as trapped in the rear of the Jumper as she was in the cockpit – when the Jumper's systems had been infested, it would have locked out all the manual overrides, not just the bulkdead doors. How soon would Atlantis come looking for them? Would it be sooner, because she was part of the team?

She felt herself begin to drift, and blinked rapidly to keep focused. Her head ached all over, her throat and mouth were dry, and the bloody lump on her forehead pulsed in him with the thrumming of her own heartbeat. She could even feel the rhythm in her fingertips as she gripped the pistol.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up. How many more times.

And she was even less sure of how many more times Sheppard could take it before it was too much for his body to handle. If it came down to it, would it be Sheppard, or the artificial parasites inside him, that gave up first?

Her hand shook as she swiped at the dampness on her cheek.

…

"They're late, sir," said Chuck, glancing up at Major Lorne. "Do you think we should…?"

"Yeah," replied the soldier. "Yeah, I'm taking a team and going after them. We'll be ready to move out in five," he added, striding quickly away and tapping his earpiece to call his team, and then, as an afterthought, adding in a call to Dr Beckett. Something wasn't right. Lorne was sure of it.

…

Rodney McKay wasn't comfortable around injuries and sick people. That was fine with Ronon, who had already busted a couple of ribs in the crash, and the brief – all too brief – grapple with Sheppard had been more painful than he wanted to admit. With the bulkhead door sealed shut, Ronon could do nothing, and the last thing he wanted was to have McKay flapping about him, so he was relieved just to be able to sit opposite the frenetically working scientist and concentrate on keeping his breaths slow and steady as he watched through half closed eyes. He didn't like not being able to do anything, but 7 years as a runner had also taught him patience.

"You got anything yet?" he asked, eventually, if only in concern for the fact that McKay hadn't stopped working even to eat in the last eight hours.

"What I've 'got' is exactly what I had before," McKay snapped, then let out a breath, shoulders slumped. "She's got your gun, and if she does what I told her to do, she should still be alive when we manage to get the doors open. Which will probably take a cutting tool. Which we don't have."

McKay sat down heavily on the bench and rubbed his hand over his face.

"You should eat something," Ronon said. "You won't think of stuff if you've not eaten properly."

McKay nodded, and rummaged briefly in a pack, removing two power bars. As an afterthought, he threw one to Ronon, who caught it one-handed, hiding a wince at the sudden movement.

"How long before they send out a search team?" Ronon asked, between mouthfuls.

"We're overdue already," Rodney confirmed what Ronon had already guessed. "They could be here any time, but the radios are down, and they'll have to cut through the hatch as well unless by some fluke the manual override outside is still working."

Ronon nodded, and finished the power bar, scrunching up the packet in one frustrated fist.

"Hate this," he grunted.

"Yeah. Me too."

…

It was only another ten minutes, in the end. At least, only another ten minutes until Lorne and his team, together with Dr Beckett, came through the gate in a second jumper. It didn't take them long to find the crash site – just a few hundred metres from the gate.

Lorne sat straighter in the pilot's seat, and saw out of the corner of his eye Beckett doing the same.

He glanced down at the Life Signs Detector, closing his eyes briefly in relief to see that there were four white dots on the screen. On closer inspection, it looked as if two were in the front and two in the back. None were moving. Lorne shook his head in concern and quickly landed his own jumper next to the stricken one.

"Careful, Doc," the Major warned. "Assuming it's them in the Jumper there' s no sign of hostiles, but something made it crash. Let my men approach first."

Beckett nodded in understanding, but ached to go to his potential patients even as he held back.

Lorne tapped his earpiece. "Colonel Sheppard." _Static_. "Dr Weir, Dr McKay, this is Major Lorne. Do you read?" He shook his head again. He'd been right to be concerned.

"Sir!" One of the Marines came jogging round from the frot of the jumper.

"Sir, I can see Dr Weir in the cockpit, but no-one else. She seems to be conscious, but she doesn't look too good."

By this time, both men were facing the windshield at the front of the Jumper. Lorne wasn't as tall as the Marine who'd called him over, but if he leaned against the craft's sloped front end he could just see Elizabeth, crouched and wedged into a corner between the closed bulkhead door and the cockpit's external wall. There was a cut on her forehead, just above her eye. Lorne strained to see past the reflections on the windshield, almost sure that Weir was holding Ronon's gun. The gun that he guarded with his life, and that nobody else was even allowed to touch. The woman herself seemed to be staring, wide-eyed, at the floor at the opposite side of the cockpit – though Lorne couldn't see down that far, the leaden feeling in his gut sank a little deeper.


	7. Kill or cure, chapter 6

Author note: So, the cavalry has arrived, but it's not quite over yet. Maybe another couple of chapters? And hey, if you're enjoying this, why not leave me a lovely little review? Go on, you know you want to.

Chapter 6

"Anyone tried the back hatch yet?" Lorne asked, jogging back to the rest of his men.

"It's not budging, sir," came the reply. "It's like the whole thing's seized up."

"Any response from inside?"

"We think there was a knocking sound, but these things are pretty soundproof."

Lorne stood by the rear hatch and knocked sharply, three times, with the butt of his sidearm, then placed his ear to the hatch. The reply was unmistakeable. Three knocks in quick succession, three longer, and then three short again. SOS.

"It's definitely our guys," Lorne confirmed. He quickly sounded out dot-dot-dot dash dot-dash dash dot-dot-dash dot-dot-dot dot-dot-dash-dash-dot-dot _Status?_

The reply was instant though Lorne had to strain to hear it: _foothold – sheppard – cockpit – cut hatch._

Lorne gave silent thanks that he'd added some basic cutting equipment to the rescue jumper's inventory, and in minutes it was set up at the back hatch.

"Didn't they say 'cockpit' sir?" Rossi queried.

"Which is exactly why we're cutting through here first, Lieutenant," Lorne replied. "Dr Weir looked really spooked, and the last thing we want to do is make the situation there worse before we have any real intel on what's going on."

Cutting through the rear hatch was slow going. It was another half hour before they were able to cut a hole in the fortified metal big enough to get access in or out. Lorne had taken the last turn, and stood up, removing the protective face mask and wiping sweat off his face with his forearm while one of the burlier marines systematically kicked out the panel they'd just cut.

"Oh thank God" was the first thing they heard from inside. _McKay. _

"Do you need the Doc to come into you, or are you OK to get out to us?" Lorne called, leaning into the roughly cut hole.

"We're coming out," the scientist replied, straight away. "Ronon's hurt, but not seriously. Its Sheppard and Elizabeth, though, that are the problem, and they're locked in the front compartment." By this time Rodney had managed to climb awkwardly out of the wrecked jumper, Ronon close behind.

Carson could see straight away that the big Satedan was in pain, but the his concerned approach was waved off.

"You gotta get to them," Ronon urged.

"Dr McKay, did I understand you right that this is a foothold situation?" the Major queried, grasping Rodney by the upper arm.

"Nanites," Rodney snapped back. "God knows what the Ancients were trying to do with them this time, but Sheppard's infested with them and they spread from him to the jumper." He paused to take a deep breath, and Lorne suddenly wondered whether the CO2 scrubbers had been working properly for the last nine hours – air could get stale real fast in such a small space. But if they weren't working well, then the situation in the much smaller front compartment of the jumper was even more precarious.

"Any chance of getting the bulkhead door open manually?" Lorne asked.

The scientist shook his head. "Tried everything. Didn't have any cutting gear. That's your best bet. But be careful."

Lorne clapped McKay on the shoulder and gestured for his own team to follow him into the jumper, bringing the cutting equipment with them.

Meanwhile Carson Beckett was determined to check on his two patients, ushering them into the rescue jumper.

"I know ye're concerned for the Colonel and for Elizabeth," he began, sitting them both down on the benches. "But ye can talk while I work. I can fix ye both up while ye tell me what we might expect ta find when they've cut through to the cockpit."

Ronon grudgingly allowed Carson to do his examination, while Rodney talked, briefing the doctor on what had happened.

"We didn't see it back at the lab. We just came in and found Sheppard out cold on the floor, but he seemed to recover well enough to fly – until we'd been airborne for perhaps a minute. Then it was like his hands froze to the console and we lost control of everything. I pulled as many crystals as I could to make sure we couldn't get as far as dialling the gate. That was when we crashed."

"That how you did this, son," the doctor asked Ronon, kindly, gesturing towards the livid bruises on the left side of his chest.

"It's no big deal. More worried about the others," Ronon replied, but he still accepted the pair of white tablets that Beckett handed him, swallowing them dry.

"Where you injured, at all, Rodney?" Carson asked, turning back to the scientist.

"Oh, the usual cuts and bruises, nothing series. But Ronon's right. We've no idea what injuries Elizabeth might have, and we need to work out what to do about Sheppard. He still has a body full of mutant microscopic robots."

"She's got my gun, though," Ronon offered.

"So we can expect the Colonel to have injuries from that, too, I take it?" the doctor replied, alarmed eyebrows raised.

"We told her to keep it on stun. Keep using it whenever he woke up. I've analysed the output of that weapon on its stun setting and if the nanites are what I think they are, then that should have been enough to keep them down. Maybe. But being stunned that many times won't have been good for Sheppard."

"Aye, you're not wrong about that," Beckett sighed. "God knows what the wee beasties have done to him, but we can expect temporary damage to the central nervous system, and possible respiratory difficulties from the stun shots alone. Any idea how many times?"

McKay and Ronon shook their heads.

"And any thoughts about how to get rid of the nanites, or neutralise them?

At this, the scientist nodded. "Possibly. They got into my tablet, too, but at least that meant I could have a good look at them. I really don't know what they were designed to do – could have been anything from medical functions to creating supersoldiers, for all I know. But what I do know is that they can only communicate and function when they're inhabiting another body, or another machine, that's just part of their programming. So to render them inert we have to disable the body or machine that they're inhabiting."

Ronon looked up, confused, but Carson was all too familiar with what Rodney was suggesting.

"You're thinking that what we did with the Iratus Big might work here?"

"It's all we've got, Carson. I don't like it any more than you do, but at least this time you're here."

Rodney's haunted look showed that the memory of having to stop Sheppard's heart to free him from the alien insect attached to his neck, was still as fresh and vivid as ever.

"Well, I don't like it," the doctor sighed, "but you're right. It's a plan, and at least I can be ready this time."

Beckett gathered up his own supplies, including the portable defibrillator, oxygen tank, and some pre-packed adrenaline shots, and headed for the crashed jumper.

"So, what? They're gonna kill Sheppard to get those things out of him?" Ronon asked, sure he must have misunderstood.

"Think of it like a kill or cure," muttered Rodney, who suddenly found that despite his exhaustion he couldn't remain sitting down, and scrambled out of the jumper to pace outside in the fresh air. Although there was nothing wrong with his ribs, he found he was echoing Ronon's pose – arms hugged tight to his chest. God, he hated this.


	8. Kill or cure, chapter 7

Author note: We're getting towards the end, now. Poor Shep, at last we're going to get some of his point of view. Don't forget, reviews are always welcome.

**Chapter 7**

Elizabeth's whole world had tunnelled into three things: the heavy pistol that she clutched in numb fingers; the throbbing pain in her head; and the unconscious form of Colonel Sheppard, sprawled between the seats. He looked worse. No, he looked like a corpse. There was no rise and fall of the chest, and only the tiniest of flutters visible beneath the skin of his neck.

She swallowed again, and pressed dry lips together. Her eyes burned when she blinked, and ached when she held them open. Time meant nothing any more, and it was as if her whole body had seized up. She wasn't sure if it was even still daylight, or if she could actually turn her head to look out of the windshield if she tried.

A sudden vibration in the bulkhead supporting her back jerked her back into awareness. Placing one hand on the metal, her concussed mind struggled to make sense of it. Was it too much to hope for that this might be a rescue team, come to cut the door away? God, she hoped so, but didn't dare believe it. She looked back at Sheppard, quickly, realising that her attention had slipped for a moment. Her joints and muscles screamed in protect as she crawled away from the bulkhead door, finding a new place to hide in the footwell of the co-pilot's seat. From there she could see the bulkhead, and still see most of Sheppard – enough to know when he next woke up, anyway.

If he did. Rodney hadn't said how many times you could get hit by one of these stunners and survive. She really hadn't wanted to count, but the last one had been thirteen, she thought. Thirteen times she'd repeated the pattern: _shoot, check for life signs, wait_. Thirteen stunners, and no time to recover between. She knew that the stunner worked by overloading the central nervous system. But could it do permanent damage?

The vibration in the bulkhead door changed pitch, and Elizabeth's heart leapt as she thought she saw the faint dark line begin to crawl down the solid metal wall, a thin trail of smoke trickling upwards from it.

_If they could just cut through before I have to shoot him again…._

Elizabeth watched in morbid fascination as the dark line turned one corner and then another, eventually turning back down to complete the square. The smell of hot metal almost made her gag, even though she knew that this was her salvation. The square was complete and a series of dull thumps shook the little cabin, just as Sheppard's foot twitched, and, from her hidden vantage point, she saw him make one final attempt to stand. He was shaking all over, skin more grey than white, now, eyes still blank and silver, and hair matted down with sweat. _Could he really still have the strength to do any harm? Do I really have to do this? Again? When rescue is so very close?_

Very slowly, Elizabeth reached behind with her right hand, to hide the pistol, and stayed very still, eyes fixed on the face of the monster who was her friend as he rose up and lurched towards her. He looked worse than dead. But just as she thought that he might not move again, the rescue team finally managed to kick through the hole they'd cut, and the resounding clang of metal on metal seemed to make something snap inside the possessed pilot.

With an inhuman snarl, he drew back his right arm, and Elizabeth knew she had no choice. She fired, point blank, as the Colonel's fist made contact with her face, and once again was pulled into the darkness.

…

"Dr Weir!"

The insistent voice seemed to come from far away.

"Get him off!"

"Are they alive?"

"Give the doc room to work!"

The words washed over her, but meant nothing.

"Elizabeth, open yer eyes for me, lass."

Carson. She really tried, but the jumble of shapes and colours refused to resolve into anything that made sense.

"Come on, lass, I need to get ye out of here. I know yer in there."

She tried to say something, she tried to ask about Sheppard, but she wasn't sure she'd managed to get the words out. There was an uncomfortable sensation of motion and dizziness, and her head throbbed unmercifully, and then she was in the fresh air.

The cacophony was less overwhelming out here and when she did manage to open her eyes, the twilight was easier on them than the rescue team's flashlights had been.

"Where's Sheppard?" she managed, finally.

"They're working on him now, ma'am," came the prompt reply from one of the Marines. Rossi, his name was, she thought.

"Is he…?"

"Doc said he wasn't breathing when they found you both, but I don't know more than that, ma'am.!

Elizabeth managed to push herself up on her elbows, and was able to take stock of her surroundings. She herself ached all over and her head was full of jackhammers, but she was more concerned for the Colonel. There was hurried activity and urgent conversation in the crashed jumper; Sheppard was clearly still inside. In that last split second he'd looked like the waking dead. If they'd found him not breathing, was it that last stunner shot that had done it? The shot she'd taken, and perhaps left too long? Would it have been less damaging if it hadn't been point blank? Elizabeth clenched her jaw and closed her eyes in an effort to hold it together. John had to be alright. He just had to be. ..

"I'm getting nothing, here," she heard Carson say. "Charge to 200, and everyone clear!"

There was a whine, and sickening thud that seemed to strike Elizabeth's heart as well as Sheppard's.

"Again," came the voice of the doctor.

Another whine, another thud. A tear slipped through, finally, but Elizabeth made no move to wipe it away.

"I've got an output!" Carson almost shouted. "So why's he not breathing yet? Let's check again for any obstructions."

There was a renewed flurry of activity followed by a sickening gagging noise and a cry of "Oh God, what _is_ that?" from one of the marines.

Forgetful of her own injuries, Elizabeth ducked into the jumper in time to see one of the most disturbing sights she'd ever witnessed.

Sheppard was lying sprawled on his side, retching. Out of his mouth and nose was flowing a stream of pearly silver, like mercury, that pooled around him. As she watched, transfixed with horror, the flow became a gush, silver tinged with blood-red, and Sheppard's tight-shut eyes squeezed out silver tears. Even his pallid skin took on a silver sheen as every pore sought to expel the nanites' fluid.

Eventually the retching subsided, and an oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth.

"We need to get a decontamination unit out here, stat," the doctor ordered. "I want him on 100% oxygen, and I want him moved from here and this whole area cordoned off. I'm not having this bloody stuff anywhere near anyone else."

Elizabeth wholeheartedly agreed with that.


	9. Kill or cure, chapter 8

Author note: Thank you for your reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying this. This chapter's a little shorter, but I know you wanted to have a bit of Sheppard's point of view and he's not feeling well enough to have a long chapter at the moment! There will be another chapter after this one, hopefully later today, and that one will probably be the last.

**Chapter 8**

John Sheppard was trapped in a waking nightmare.

Pain washed over him in great, crashing waves, and he was drowning in it. He had no control over his own body, and his mind struggled to grasp the fleeting images and sensations: red flashes of light…. an awareness of falling… the ceiling of a jumper cockpit… Elizabeth's terrified face… his own fist, swinging…. more red lights… more pain … blackness… the images tumbled over and over, battering sense and mind alike.

Then, after the blackness , he slammed back into his body, and it was like falling through a plate glass window. Every pain snapped into exquisite focus, every nerve ending on fire, and suddenly he really was drowning: his lungs reflexively sought to draw in air, but couldn't, and the blackness gathered at the edges of his mind again, threatening to overwhelm him as his weakened body fought against it.

Strong hands were rolling him, and without warning it felt as if he was turning inside out: thick metallic liquid surged upwards, filling his mouth. He bucked and coughed and gagged, desperate to draw air into battered lungs, sure that he must be dying. His eyes and nose burned, his whole body felt raw, and finally he managed a wheezing breath to fight the dark.

There was something over his face, but it didn't matter, because there was air, blessed cool air, and it was enough. Just. His chest ached with every hard-fought lungful of precious oxygen, and he lay still, unable to do anything but survive.

Gradually, the meaningless sounds revolved themselves into words.

"…starting to breathe on his own… that's good…."

"…May have to intubate for a while…. relieve the pressure on the lungs…."

"Decontamination…. get isolation room prepared…"

Then, much closer, "Are ye with us, Colonel?"

He tried to speak, to move, in response, but heard only a soft groan and cursed his weakness.

Suddenly there was light, shining in his eyes, and he tried to twitch away from it, pain spiking through his head.

"Sorry, Colonel. We'll have ye back home in no time, just hang in there."

He finally recognised Carson's distinctive voice. Relief washed over him, powerful enough to make him light-headed. He drifted, riding out the pain and the emotion, without the energy to do any more than lie back and breathe.

A gentle hand on his shoulder told him that Carson was back, and he tried to mumble a greeting.

"I'm sorry to do this to ye, Colonel, but we've got to get ye through decontamination before we can get ye home. I'll not lie to ye, it's not going to be pleasant, but I'll be with ye the whole time."

The doctor hadn't been lying.

Even being stripped of his clothes sent fresh waves of pain through Sheppard's body. His skin felt hyper sensitised, and when the chemical decontaminant began to pound him, and it felt like he was drowning again. He coughed, every movement sending spikes of pain through his chest. He was grateful for the anchoring grip of Beckett's hand on his.

It felt like he'd been in there an eternity, but at some point he must have blacked out, because the next thing he was aware of was the fact that he was shaking. He felt cold to his core, and the shudders made it hard to take a deep enough breath. Someone somewhere was asking for blankets. There was a sickening sensation of movement that in a distant way he recognised as being lifted onto a gurney, then, finally, some warmth seeping in through his tender skin.

The night sky turned into the ceiling of a jumper, and the cold wash of a wormhole and then, finally, the familiar ceilings of Atlantis. He was home, and it finally felt safe enough to stop fighting and give up his fragile grasp on consciousness.


	10. Kill or cure, chapter 9

_Author note: I remember vaguely making some rash promise about finishing this story tonight, but at that point I thought this chapter might be the last one… but you know what, I'm enjoying this a bit too much. And, more to the point, Sheppard's still out of it, so you'll have to wait a little longer for that awkward conversation (Weir and Sheppard's guilt-fest, that is)… Thanks again for the reviews – feedback is great, makes me happy inside!_

**Chapter 9**

From her bed in the infirmary, Elizabeth could hear Sheppard's team as they loitered outside the isolation room that still housed the injured Colonel.

She herself was dressed in scrubs, and sported an IV on the back of her left hand. She was sitting on top of the blanket, with a laptop resting on her legs. The IV kept getting in the way when she tried to type. Carson had gently suggested that her report of the mission could wait, at least until she was a little more recovered from her concussion, but there was a part of her that just wanted to get it written. Then, there was another part of her that never wanted to write the damn thing up at all.

Every blink, every tightening of the jaw, made the pain in her head blossom. And there was a small part of her that was glad of it. It wouldn't have felt right to have emerged from the whole sorry affair intact while Sheppard …

She broke her chain of thought as the conversations of Sheppard's team again filtered through the curtains around her bed. God, was she really hiding from them? Perhaps she was, though she'd have to face them sooner or later. And him, too. Though from what Carson had told her it would be a while before he was well enough for any kind of meaningful conversation. She'd been out of it herself until a few hours ago. It had only been a day so far, after all.

Elizabeth stared blankly at the equally blank document in front of her on the screen for another five minutes before giving up and closing the lid with a snap. If she couldn't face Sheppard yet, at least she could visit with his team, and say… something.

The infirmary floor was cold on her bare feet, but the IV pole was a useful brace against the residual dizziness as she stood and made her way through the curtains to the isolation room's viewing window.

Elizabeth liked to think she was good at reading people, but she didn't want to try and read the expression on their faces as she made her way over to Rodney and Ronon. The Satedan's face was a mask, but he silently removed his feet from the spare chair they'd been resting on when he saw her approach – perhaps actions did speak louder than words.

"Elizabeth," Rodney began – now there was a man who usually had no shortage of words. "You're… uh.." he flapped ineffectually with one hand, but she could tell what he meant and managed a weak smile as she lowered herself carefully to the chair that Ronon had freed up for her.

"So, how's he doing?" she asked, carefully.

"Doc says he's doin' good," Ronon offered, uncharacteristically the first to reply. Was he really going out of his way to try and make her feel more comfortable?

Elizabeth looked again through the window at the still form of her second in command. To her eyes, he only looked better because he'd looked so terrible before.

"So your device is working, then, Rodney?" Elizabeth queried, turning to the scientist.

"Yes, seems to be," Rodney replied. "It's emitting a localised field to keep the remaining nanites in his system inert until he … er… excretes them naturally."

Rodney made a face and looked back through the window, unwilling to meet her eye. He had a point, too. It had been shocking to witness the initial expulsion of the nanite fluid back on the planet, but she shuddered at the idea that the process was still going on, albeit gradually, and this time with proper medical care and pain relief.

"Ah, there ye all are," came Carson's voice from behind them. "Elizabeth, love, how're you feeling?"

"Better, thank you," she replied, absently, eyes still on the man in the isolation room. "How's he really doing?"

The doctor sighed, and when Elizabeth turned to look at him properly, she could see the shadows under his eyes and the drop of his shoulders that revealed how tired he was.

"It's slow progress, but he's getting there," the doctor confirmed. "I'd thought at one point that we might have to intubate to give his lungs a rest, but luckily his breathing picked up. It's fascinating, actually, from what we can tell the nanite fluid had coated the lining of his lungs – he wasn't breathing before because the gas exchange was being done by the nanintes themselves. When he started expelling them, his body had to remember how to breathe – at bit like when someone's been intubated, in fact."

"But he'll make a full recovery?" Elizabeth queried again.

When Carson looked back at her his eyes were full of understanding, and he answered the question she hadn't asked.

"I won't lie to ye, it was touch and go for a while. The repeated exposure to the energy weapon has caused damage to his central nervous system, but –" he held a hand up "- it's improving all the time, and there's no reason at the moment to think he won't make a complete recovery. We have him on dialysis to speed up the process of ridding his body of the wee beasties, and we're giving him some medication to boost his immune system – trying to fight this thing off has certainly taken its toll on his system. He's on some heavy duty pain killers to counteract his nervous system being over-stimulated, but overall I'm pleased with his progress at the moment."

Elizabeth looked down at the floor. _Damage to the central nervous system. She'd done that._ Somehow as her mind supplied an image of him lying, ashen-faced, in the jumper, the pain of her own injuries – the ones she'd sustained at his hand – wasn't quite enough.

A hand on her shoulder roused her from her self-recriminating reverie, and by the time she looked up, she'd managed to school her features. With an appreciative nod at Rodney and Ronon, she allowed Carson to lead her back to her own infirmary bed.

"It's not yer fault, lassie," he said, softly, once they were out of earshot. "They all know that. Even Ronon. Especially Ronon. He feels terrible that it ended up being you in there. And yes, John too. The times he's been coherent enough to talk, he's always asked after you."

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and let her shoulders sag. "I could have killed him, Carson," she said in an uncharacteristically small voice. "I did kill him. That last stunner stopped his heart."

"Aye," Carson sighed, sitting down beside her. "But we got him back. And if ye'd not taken the shot…" he left the words hanging, looking pointedly at the mottled bruising that covered one side of Elizabeth's face.

She gave a tiny nod, pursing her lips. Carson was probably right. John would be the last person to condemn her for what she'd done. What she'd had to do. But the memories would haunt her for a very long time.


	11. Kill or cure, chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

There's a world of difference between drowning and floating.

When the drowning was finally over, for a long time, John floated, exhausted and depleted. He was disconnected from his body again, but this time it wasn't frightening, it simply _was_. He knew, somewhere at the back of his mind, that he must be on some pretty heavy duty drugs. If he really concentrated, he could feel things like the tickle of the oxygen feed under his nose, and the tug of the IV port on his hand, and… other things… that he never liked to think about. But mostly, thinking was hard work, so he didn't. He floated.

People came and went. There were fleeting concerned smiles. Sometimes the smiles came with bright lights shining in his eyes, that hurt him. Sometimes they came with soft cloths that felt laced with razors, to wipe his skin. At those times, the beeping sound speeded up, and the tug on his hand brought sweet relief.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes the darkness brought unwelcome, disjointed memories of pain and violence, and he would start to drown again. The memories felt real, and yet they made no sense. A pale face, framed by dark hair. _Elizabeth_. Blood on his knuckles. Ronon's gun, but no Ronon. _Was he alright?_ Silver trickles sparking across a jumper dashboard. _Crashing_. Red light, pain and darkness. _Again and again_.

Perhaps he'd called out, or shouted. Sometimes when he became lost in these flashes of memory, he would hear someone calling his name, or holding his hand, and he followed them out, but always an overwhelming weight of unexplained remorse clung to him like wet clothes on a drowned man. More than once he felt a hand brush across his cheek as if to wipe away a tear.

Perhaps there was a very fine line indeed between floating and drowning.

…

"I have to go and see him, Carson. I have to talk to him." Elizabeth had been discharged from the infirmary, with strict instructions to rest, but she was back again, leaning tiredly against the doorframe of the doctor's small office.

"He's still very weak, Elizabeth," the Scot replied, with a shake of the head. "The latest scan shows he's free of the nanites, so it's quite safe for ye to be in there with him, but he's nae gonna be up to a long conversation."

"I won't tire him out, I promise," she replied, with a wan smile. "I just need to see him for myself. Maybe say a few things myself."

Carson relented, taking pity on her. She was crucifying herself over this, and though it was unlikely that Sheppard would get much out of a visit, perhaps seeing first hand that the Colonel was improving might help her come to terms with it all.

"Ye can sit with him a wee while, love. But I cannae tell you when he'll next be awake and aware."

"Thanks, Carson," Elizabeth smiled, standing straight and squaring her shoulders as she turned towards the cubicle where Sheppard now lay. He was no longer in isolation, but instead was occupying the last bed in the far corner of the infirmary where it was relatively quiet, and where there was room for his team to watch over him.

Teyla was there, sitting by the bed, and reading what looked like a book of poetry.

"Elizabeth," she acknowledged, eyes full of understanding. Although she had still been with the Athosians when it had all happened, someone had clearly filled in the details for her.

The Athosian woman stood gracefully. "If you are able to sit with Colonel Sheppard a while, I can return later?" she offered, giving Elizabeth the chance for privacy.

Torn between gratitude and trepidation, Elizabeth nodded her thanks, and took Teyla's seat.

Sheppard was dreaming. At least, there was movement of his eyes behind the bruised-looking lids. He looked unguarded in sleep, and it almost felt like a violation to watch him in such a state of vulnerability. On impulse, she reached out a hand, intending to hold his hand as it twitched on the blanket. But she drew back at the last second, resting her fingers on the edge of the bed in hesitation.

She closed her eyes again, trying to compose herself. _God, this was hard, and he wasn't even awake yet. _

…

Something drew Sheppard from the dream – he was sleeping less deeply than before, now, so perhaps it was simply a breath of air, a movement, a voice… He cracked his eyes open a fraction. The blurred shape by the bed became a figure, and one more blink allowed his vision to clear fully. _Elizabeth_.

Even with eyes open, flashes of memory rose to the surface, and his breath and heart quickened in response. _God, Elizabeth!_

It took all his concentration, but John made his fingers crawl painstakingly across the blanket until they made contact with hers. She looked up, meeting his eyes.

Sheppard sucked in a breath. He took in the livid purple bruising, the neat line of stitches above her eyebrow. The haunted eyes.

"S'real," he managed, finally, his voice scratchy from disuse. He swallowed. "Hoped it was a nightmare."

"Yeah, me too."

"God, 'Lizabeth." His face was a portrait of horror and remorse.

"It wasn't you, John. But what I did… that was me, and I could have killed you."

"Better that than…" he trailed off, blinking rapidly and turning his gaze to some point across the room. But he left his fingers intertwined with hers.

"Christ, Kate's going to have a field day with us," Elizabeth muttered.

"Lizabeth. 'M sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, John," she assured him, looking back and enjoying again the natural hazel of his eyes. Perhaps if she kept looking at them the reality would erase the memory of the blank, silver stare of the man who had tried to kill her.

"Sorry," he repeated, eyes closing of their own accord. The slurred whisper was spoken with such intensity, and had clearly taken a lot out of the injured man.

His hand went limp in hers, and sure he was once more asleep, she finally replied, "Yeah. Me too."

…

It was a full week later that Elizabeth was officially cleared for duty. The bruises on her face had faded to a mottled green, but it would take longer for the psychological scars to heal. She'd been to see Kate, of course. No way to avoid that, and she wasn't so proud of her own resilience to believe that all this would just conveniently go away and leave her unscathed.

The wind played with her hair as she leaned on the balcony rail outside the control room. Perhaps she was still hiding. She found the constant sympathetic glances difficult. She found the sidelong glances from the military personnel harder still. Did they blame her for what had happened to their commanding officer? Or was it some sort of macho collective guilt that they seemed to take on every time a civilian was injured?

She hadn't heard the approaching footsteps when a shadow fell across her face, and she turned to see Sheppard, leaning next to her and staring out at the ocean. Seeing him properly in daylight, it was clear that he was still far from well. She knew from Carson's memo that he'd only been released to his quarters that morning. The sunlight that usually brought out his healthy tan today bled him of colour, and his already lean frame was clearly a few pounds lighter. But he was alive. God, he was alive! And by all accounts, well on the way to a full recovery.

He turned towards her, and she opened her mouth to say something – anything – then closed it again, unsure of where to start.

"I came to say thank you," he said, finally, and there was warmth and integrity in his eyes, as well as exhaustion.

"Thank you?" she repeated.

"That, and sorry," he added, looking away again, out to sea.

"You said that already, in the infirmary," Elizabeth pointed out. "And I still say you've nothing to be sorry for."

"Look," he said, keeping his eyes forward, "my memory's full of holes, but I've read the reports, and I've put a few things together from the bits I can remember to know that whatever hell I went through, you went through worse."

"John, I – "

He turned towards her. "What I'm saying is that nobody should ever have to do what you had to do. God, if our positions had been reversed? I don't even want to think about that. I'm supposed to protect you, and instead –" he broke off, and looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor.

She looked down at her hands, now empty, and almost felt the weight of the energy pistol again.

"I guess we both have some issues to resolve," Elizabeth offered. "Have you been to see…-"

"Yeah," Sheppard answered the unfinished question. "Gotta go again before I can get back on active duty." There was no hint of complaint in his voice, however.

Sheppard pushed himself away from the balcony rail and turned to go.

"Seriously, though, thank you," he said, half turning back. "If you hadn't done what you did…"

He turned again and walked slowly back inside – not yet fully healed, but very much alive - leaving Elizabeth alone with the wind and the sunshine and the spray from the sea.

…

Author note: Well, folks, that was it. Don't worry, they'll be OK now, at least they will be until the next time I get my sadistic hands on them! Thanks again for reading, and especially to all of you who took the time to review.


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